


When the World Stops

by red_crate



Series: Gift Fics [12]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hair Washing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 00:57:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14706101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_crate/pseuds/red_crate
Summary: “I was really scared,” Peter's voice comes out gravelly, ripped out. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of Tony's sides. “But then you were there, and somehow we got through it.”





	When the World Stops

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lavenderlotion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderlotion/gifts).



“C’mon, kid,” Thinking about practicality have kept Tony going this long, but he knows he's going to crash soon. Tony leads Peter into the bathroom, getting his fingers under the hem of his shirt to pull it up. Sweat makes it cling. “Let's get cleaned up. Then bed, yeah?”

Peter moves along easily, hands gripping and pulling along with Tony's as they both attempt to get him out of a simple t-shirt. There is no hint of shyness or uncertainty in the younger man, just a desperate, naked need to assure himself they survived.

 _They survived_.

Tony's throat clicks when he swallows, and he forces himself not to think about how close they had come to dying. He thinks it will never get easy—that near-death thing—but he should be used to it by now. Knowing that he is directly responsible for Peter being in the thick of the frey is enough to make Tony hate himself. He doesn't think about that either.

Instead, he finds his fingers running through Peter's dirty hair and tracing his hand down Peter's cheek to his neck where something black is smudged.  

“Tony,” Peter's gaze is bright, no doubt adrenaline still coursing through him just the same as it dumps into Tony's system. “I...” His hands twist in Tony's under armour, tugging him closer until there is barely a breath between them.

“You're okay. You did good.” Tony lets himself tip his forehead against Peter's, inhaling.

He moves when he feels Peter shift. Peter's lashes are wet and two tear tracks streak down his cheeks. “Sorry. That was insane,” he steps back and pulls his shirt off all the way to drop it in the floor and hug himself. He seems so young and devastated.

Tony did this, looped Peter into more violence, more death.

It's impossible not to fold himself around Peter in response, the way he wishes someone would have done for him. He quickly shucks his own shirt so they press skin to skin, hot and slick with _life_. “Shower.” He walks the two of them farther into the bathroom and over to the overly large glass shower. It shouldn't take long for Pete to wash off, then Tony will do the same.

They need to sleep for about a week, then maybe try and figure out what happens next.

Right now though, Tony concentrates on the maneuvers it takes to strip Peter. Pushing his pants and underwear down is easier than it should be with only the resistance coming from damp cloth and neither man. All Tony can think about is wiping away the evidence of their fight and getting Peter clean.

“You too,” Peter spins around, and he deftly yanks Tony's clothes down as well, barely even looking as he does so, before he takes Tony's wrist in hand.

His grip is tight enough to make his bones ache, but Tony doesn't complain. He turns the spray on with the water hot enough to steam up the mirrors.

Then they're standing under the shower head and the water runs murky, sluicing off the worst of the grime. Jerky movements and Peter has a palm full of shampoo and is showing hesitancy for the first time.

“Can I?” When Tony bows his head to make it easier, Peter slides his hands over his hair.

It's a soft gentle pressure. Peter works his fingers over Tony's scalp and massages as he goes. Where he normally only takes a handful of seconds to wash his hair, Peter takes minutes that slow down into steady drag of fingers carding through Tony's hair. He eventually tips Tony's head back up.

Humidity and heat has built up between the two of them, and Tony has a hard time breathing properly when he meets the intensity of Peter's gaze. It's too much, everything.  

He takes Peter's hands in his and holds them against his chest to keep from backing Peter up against the wall. Tony recognizes the desire in himself, a simmering thing that has been growing for too long. It's reflected in Peter's face, in the way his fingers twist in Tony's until they tangle together.

“Finish,” is all Tony can think to say, before he guides Peter's hands back up to his head.

Peter works the soap out and sweeps his palms down Tony's neck, fingers brushing along the hair at Tony's jaw.

“Turn around.” Peter says, directing Tony with pressure on his shoulders.

Shivers run down Tony's arms when Peter scrapes his blunt nails up the back of his head. There couldn't possibly be any shampoo left in his hair now, but Tony doesn't bother pointing it out. He doesn't know if anyone has ever touched him quite this tenderly. All this from Peter, someone  Tony would give his life to save.

He groans without meaning to, putting a hand out to brace his weight when his knees go a little weak. Peter massages down the tense line of Tony’s neck and shoulders before his palms flatten and his fingers curve around his waist. Tony closes his eyes and straightens up just a little when Peter’s cheek presses against his shoulder blade. It's not quite a hug, but it's somehow more intimate.

Tony bends his neck so the water falls into his face and he wipes at it. Stubble has grown around his goatee, coarse and short. He should shave when he gets out, but knows he'll leave it until the morning.

“I was really scared,” Peter's voice comes out gravelly, ripped out. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of Tony's sides. “But then you were there, and somehow we got through it.”

Tony turns his head, mouth opening, but then he moves until he's facing Peter once again. When he pulls the younger man to his chest, he lets himself wrap Peter in his arms tightly.

They're the same height now. Peter is broad. Tony's face fits in the crook of his neck, their feet slotted between each other's on the smooth stone floor.

“Yeah, kid, we got through it.” His lips slip against Peter's skin. Unconsciously, he presses just a little closer until he can feel the quick drum best of Peter's pulse.

The catch in Peter's breath hooks Tony, opens up possibilities he's tried not to consider. It's not the time for that though. But when Peter twists until their mouths brush Tony gives in. It's a comfort and a promise, drawn out.

Peter is the one to pull back, lips red, eyes dark. “Wow.” The word comes out quietly, a shy half a smile tacked on the end, and Tony cups Peter's face between his palms.

He says, “Shower,” and brushes his thumb over Peter's bottom lip longingly. “Then bed.”

Tony is half hard, Peter pressing against him with his answering desire. But it's late, and they've been through so much today.

He moves back to grab the shampoo and to put some space between them. Peter groans slightly, but he doesn’t protest. When Tony slides his fingers back into his hair, Peter sighs contentedly and his shoulders drop.

This. This is what they need right now.

Everything else can wait.

**Author's Note:**

> This did not end up where I wanted, but I hope you enjoyed it! This wouldn't have happened at all without Brandi's cheerleading!
> 
> If you wanna come hang out with me on Tumblr, I'm [here](http://the-redcrate.tumblr.com).


End file.
